“Come, Clarisse, kiss the gentleman,” said Fauchery.  “You know, he’s got the rhino.”

And turning to the count: 

“You’ll see, she’s very nice!  She’s going to kiss you!”

But Clarisse was disgusted by the men.  She spoke in violent terms of the dirty lot waiting at the porter’s lodge down below.  Besides, she was in a hurry to go downstairs again; they were making her miss her last scene.  Then as Fauchery blocked up the doorway, she gave Muffat a couple of kisses on the whiskers, remarking as she did so: 

“It’s not for you, at any rate!  It’s for that nuisance Fauchery!”

And with that she darted off, and the count remained much embarrassed in his father-in-law’s presence.  The blood had rushed to his face.  In Nana’s dressing room, amid all the luxury of hangings and mirrors, he had not experienced the sharp physical sensation which the shameful wretchedness of that sorry garret excited within him, redolent as it was of these two girls’ self-abandonment.  Meanwhile the marquis had hurried in the rear of Simonne, who was making off at the top of her pace, and he kept whispering in her ear while she shook her head in token of refusal.  Fauchery followed them, laughing.  And with that the count found himself alone with the dresser, who was washing out the basins.  Accordingly he took his departure, too, his legs almost failing under him.  Once more he put up flights of half-dressed women and caused doors to bang as he advanced.  But amid the disorderly, disbanded troops of girls to be found on each of the four stories, he was only distinctly aware of a cat, a great tortoise-shell cat, which went gliding upstairs through the ovenlike place where the air was poisoned with musk, rubbing its back against the banisters and keeping its tail exceedingly erect.

“Yes, to be sure!” said a woman hoarsely.  “I thought they’d keep us back tonight!  What a nuisance they are with their calls!”

The end had come; the curtain had just fallen.  There was a veritable stampede on the staircase—­its walls rang with exclamations, and everyone was in a savage hurry to dress and be off.  As Count Muffat came down the last step or two he saw Nana and the prince passing slowly along the passage.  The young woman halted and lowered her voice as she said with a smile: 

“All right then—­by and by!”

The prince returned to the stage, where Bordenave was awaiting him.  And left alone with Nana, Muffat gave way to an impulse of anger and desire.  He ran up behind her and, as she was on the point of entering her dressing room, imprinted a rough kiss on her neck among little golden hairs curling low down between her shoulders.  It was as though he had returned the kiss that had been given him upstairs.  Nana was in a fury; she lifted her hand, but when she recognized the count she smiled.

“Oh, you frightened me,” she said simply.

And her smile was adorable in its embarrassment and submissiveness, as though she had despaired of this kiss and were happy to have received it.  But she could do nothing for him either that evening or the day after.  It was a case of waiting.  Nay, even if it had been in her power she would still have let herself be desired.  Her glance said as much.  At length she continued: